


Requiem for a Dream

by Infinitely_Odd



Series: Meanwhile, In Night Vale [7]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Allusions to emotional abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil Whump, Cecil is Mostly Human, Cecil's mother is not a nice person, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Self-Conscious Cecil, Vent fic?, Young Cecil, talking about cecil and his relationship to his mother, when will author stop projecting onto cecil ahah NEVer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22802905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinitely_Odd/pseuds/Infinitely_Odd
Summary: Cecil doesn't dream, but when he does, it's of his mother
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Series: Meanwhile, In Night Vale [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553950
Comments: 4
Kudos: 86





	Requiem for a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @oddpyromaniac  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bibliokleptic_aziraphale/  
> @bibliokleptic_aziraphale  
> Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/99760524-eldritch-abomination  
> 

Sometimes Cecil dreams about his mother.

Well, that's partially a lie. He doesn't sleep, not unless he's ill and Carlos recommends he takes those awful pills he locked away in his bathroom cabinet. He hates them, hates how they knock him out and leave him helpless at the mercy of the world, but who is Cecil to argue with a scientist.

Normally he doesn't sleep, let alone dream, but when he's lying in bed and Carlos has drifted off, Cecil can't help but close his eyes. Carlos has often told him that the brain plays tricks on people when it's bored. First of all, the idea of his brain being sentient and willing to play tricks on itself confuses and excites Cecil more than he cares to admit, and secondly, he discovers that his brain is an asshole.

Because instead of filling his mind with flowers, or space, or anything remotely interesting, his brain conjures up an image of his mother.

Cecil is five, in his childhood home (which he still has keys to and goes to regularly) sitting at his kitchen table. By all means, his house is normal. There are bedrooms, a living room with a mantel covered in medals and trophies and certificates he and Abby have won. They have two radios- one is Cecil's, a present from someone he can't quite remember, and the other is in the kitchen for his mother to listen to while she cooks or tidies. Or for Abby to listen to while she does her homework.

Five-year-olds have it easy, and Cecil is more than content just swinging his legs and watching how his shoelaces swing and sway. Then his mother enters, a cloud of floral perfume announcing her arrival before Cecil even sees her. She's a small slip of a woman. Thin and pale, dainty and lithe. Her white hair cascades down her back, her eyes are a deep brown. She reminds him of the posters around town covered in pretty ladies advertising soaps, or axes.

Cecil doesn't remember much, other than being happy- and receiving his Little Reporter's Book of Big Boy Note Taking. His mother was strange, even for a citizen of Night Vale. Cecil noticed all the other women talking about her. Whispering about her strange choices in fashion ( _A striped apron? What is she, a housewife? The damn woman dresses like an Outsider..._ ) or her behaviour ( _She doesn't take part in any activities for the school. Poor Abby, so ashamed when she never turned up. I bet Mrs Palmer isn't even from Night Vale..._) all of which Cecil was too young to understand.

Doubts about her residency were disproved, however, when she was allowed access to the Big Book of Prophecies. The first day she went there, she came home alone, stumbling through the door. Cecil hid behind a doorframe while his mother gripped her hair until it began to fall out. 

"Mother?" He whispered, his voice tiny and uncertain. She made no movements, so Cecil decided to go to her. He was a brave boy, after all. 

He tiptoed down the hall, keeping close to the walls, never moving too quickly. More hair fell out. Her hands slipped to her arms where she began tearing at her pale skin. 

Cecil took a deep breath and stepped in front of her. Her head shot up, her eyes unfocused and glassy. Cecil stepped back with a cry, but she stopped him, latching onto his arm and refusing to let go. 

"Someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil," She said. It seemed as though he was made of glass, and she was looking straight through him. "and it will involve a mirror. Mark my words, child!”

Then, she blinked. Her eyes brightened. She dropped Cecil's arm as if it burned her, got to her feet, and brushed past him without another word. Abby came home later. None of them ever spoke to each other. That, Cecil knew, was how they showed love. 

God, Cecil loved his mother, and her ignoring of his existence only proved she loved him back. He knew it.

* * *

The next time he closed his eyes, he was fifteen.

It was his birthday, the happiest day of the year. Abby was out, it was only him and mother. But she had been weirder than usual lately. He had noticed, and the town had noticed. Kids talked. Whispers followed him at school, but Cecil didn't mind. She'd covered all the mirrors in the house years ago, all because she wanted to keep Cecil safe. She was perhaps a bit unhinged, but she loved him.

He sat alone at the kitchen table, a party hat on top of his head, a lone cupcake in front of him with one single candle burning away. This was fine. He was happy. 

He was. He had Leonard on the radio, he had cake and a hat and that was all he needed. Birthday's weren't that exciting anyway. The click of the front door echoed through the empty house, and his mother walked in. Her perfume had a sour edge to it, he'd tried to ask her if she was okay, and she'd nearly bitten his head off (literally). Furthermore, she was slumped. Her hair had lost its shine, and she constantly had that distant look in her eyes.

She hobbled into the kitchen, placing a parcel down on the table as she walked past to stare out onto the street. It was labelled to Cecil, who teared up. She remembered!

"Mother, thank you!" He said, shredding the paper off to reveal a cassette tape. It was old, one of the first models, he imagined. But it was the first gift his mother had ever given him, and that was worth more than any of the new tapes he'd seen in town. "You're just in time! You'll never guess what," She turned to him, that vacant look didn't deter him one bit. "I phoned into the station, you know, to ask about interning there, and Leonard said he would consider my application! The prophecy is coming true! Despite ⛥ d̵̬͉̗̥̲́͗̀̈͠i̷̫̳̖͈̋̚̕ḓ̶̙̗̣̯͛͆͝ ̷̟̹̌̏̕ī̵͍̤̻̪͖̓̔̆́ ̴̼̲̓̽̾͗͘h̵̫̬̰̟͑̇͂̂͠ȃ̶̪͈̰͇̞̒͝v̵̥͖͐̌ȩ̸̛̳͎̜͐̓͝ ̸͎͛ă̶̛̳̍͑͠ ̷̢͉͔̽͑͘b̶̢̛̜̦͒̔͝r̴̨̿̆̇͆̚o̷̺̟̩͗͗ṱ̷̓̓̈́͗͝ȟ̷̭e̵̻̱͕̮̳̓̓̃̚͠ṟ̷̗͇͍̙͂͆̇?̶̪͂̋ ⛧ saying I don't have the voice for radio, you believe in me, right?"

But mother had gone pale. Paler than usual. Her eyes frantic, her small frame beginning to tremble. Then, her voice began to waver, words jumbling into incomprehensible noises that made his ears hurt, then his eyes ache, and finally made him feel like she was ripping gaping holes in his mind. Cecil covered his ears, screwing his eyes shut hoping that the self-inflicted darkness would save him.

When he opened his eyes, only a few minutes later when the noises had stopped, mother was gone. The front door swang in the breeze. 

Cecil shrugged. It wasn't uncommon for her to do this. To vanish every now and then, it was how she showed Cecil she loved him. 

He ate his cake, he recorded his very first radio show (well, he pretended to), he listened to Leonard Burton on the radio. 

⛥ ẅ̷̨̻̟̠͒̉h̸̛̰͆͐o̶͖̻̐a̵̢̛͔̦̰̱͊r̶̬̠̫͈̕e̴̢̼͝y̸̡̬͎̓o̷̟̓͗̊ű̴̗̭̐?̵̣͌ ⛥ appeared, his face obscured by the mists of Cecil's memory. They bickered, he vanished again, and Cecil was alone. Mother always came home, she had to. Cecil didn't have anyone else. Abby phoned to let him know she was staying at Steve Carlsberg's house, and not to wait up for her. Cecil said he wouldn't and put the phone down, but that didn't mean he wouldn't wait up for mother. 

Leonard's show ended. Normally that was when mother would appear, smelling of sourness more than her perfume. She would dance around, tell Cecil things he didn't understand, and drink from the bottle she kept under the sink.

Not tonight though. The morning grew lighter, and still, she didn't appear. Abby called to say she was staying at Steve's for a few days to work on a project, but mother still didn't arrive. ⛧ ẇ̴͇ḫ̶̫̈́̄̑ŷ̴͖̮̼͕ͅȧ̵̡̠͕̼r̸̰͋̕è̴̠̙͙̔̒͆y̶̧̨͔̬͎̐̇o̷͆͜u̷̼̘̝̾̊͝h̴͎̲̪̱̦̏̋̂ę̴͆̓͊̍̓r̸̯̱͠e̶̛̱̙̻͎͛͆̉ ⛥ vanished and reappeared, though Cecil couldn't quite remember him exactly as he was. 

Mother finally appeared three days later, the haunted look still following her. She spent three more days in her room, Cecil leaving out dishes of food for her that would always be untouched. Abby stopped coming home, ψ ġ̸̹͇̣͋ȇ̶̲̙̚t̸͉̦̲̅͜ō̶̢̠̣̹̑͝ư̷͇̠͋͝ͅt̸̪̰̫̮̓͗͝ö̵̪͓̬̖̲́f̷͉̯͐̈́͜ṃ̸̛̊͊ỷ̷̼̳͒̊h̷̳̆́̅͜ẹ̶̣͙̳͓͊͛̒â̵̼̗̘͛d̴̞̬̔̅̈͝ stopped appearing, but his mother would cry and cry and cry. Her wails would echo into the vast expanse of space, and for days it was all Cecil would hear.

Then, there was the bliss of silence. Cecil crept upstairs, pushing open the doors to mother's room. It was empty. Scribbles marred the white walls, her bed had been torn apart from the inside, her wails had translated into blood script that dripped onto the floors and ceiling. 

His stomach dropped, he went downstairs to his tape, his only way of grounding himself in this world. The tape was the only gravity he believed in. A reporter must report all things, even if they're unpleasant. He walked upstairs again, walking into his mother's room once more. 

The mirror on the table was uncovered. Cecil blinked once, catching a glimpse of his reflection. His horrible, monstrous reflection. The thing that would kill him. The only tape from that day was choking noises as he desperately tried to breathe. Tried to push against the thing forcing itself down his throat. Then there was peace. Sweet air flooded his lungs, but Cecil couldn't move.

It took four more days for Abby to come back, to find her brother half-starved sitting outside his mother's room, the high school phoning her frantically asking why he hadn't been there in over a week, and wondering if he had been eaten by the librarians which had escaped. Another two for her to officially drop out of school, revoking her application to a college Outside of Night Vale. Abby found a job, Cecil went back to school. 

It was like nothing had changed, but everything had. Abby snapped at him, he snapped back. At night he cried for a woman he loved, and who he was sure loved him too. He cried for his mother to come back and ignore him, act like he wasn't there, because that was better than the confusion plaguing him. It would mean Abby could leave, that things would be like they always were.

But Cecil's mother wouldn't reappear until six years later, like a spectre emerging from the mist.

* * *

Family was important to Carlos. He grew up in a big family who were all closely knitted together, it made sense for them to all get along. It was weird seeing how they all showed love for each other.

Carlos always showed love through his actions, not so much his words. Of course, he always told Cecil he loved him, and called him the _cutest_ names. It was adorable. Carlos was adorable. But he never understood his relationship with Abby or Steve.

It was complicated.

Everything was complicated, even more so after mother came back. Six years later. Drunk out her mind, looking like she hadn't eaten in many months, her clothes torn, her hair long in some places and sheared off in others. She came back, pleading for help. 

Abby went back to school, and Cecil spent his days looking after his mother. After that day, she shrank back into herself. She never told Cecil she loved him again, but instead went back to ignoring him. That was how she loved people. That was how she loved him. 

But no matter how he liked to convince himself it was the same, it never was. Cecil was older, wiser. Life moved on, it had to. One can't live in the past, and one can't force themselves to believe that the past can be relived. When she died only a few months later he was the only one at her funeral, and no one ever spoke of Mrs Palmer again.

He never liked to talk about his feelings. He didn't like to remember how Earl had cried, how he had reminded Cecil that they could have had something before he, too, vanished. The gorgeous man from Luftnarp's face as Cecil boarded the bus home, never to see each other again. But Carlos had changed all that. Suddenly, he found someone that he was desperate to show affection to, and even more desperate to receive affection from.

Cecil sits up in bed. His husband beside him. He must shake the bed a little too hard, because Carlos mumbles something and sits up next to Cecil, laying his head on Cecil's bare shoulder. "Cecil? Everything alright?" 

"Yes, everything's fine Carlos." He presses a kiss to Carlos's head. "Go back to sleep." 

Carlos hums but gently pulls down Cecil with him. "I won't be able to sleep without my honey-voiced honey beside me. Will you tell me what's bothering you in the morning?"

"I don't know." He can always be honest with Carlos.

"That's okay. Rest for now. I love you, Cecil."

Those words will never fail to make his heart flutter. "I love you too, Carlos." And he does.

When Cecil next dreams, it's of his mother again. Screaming at him that no one could ever love him, then begging him for help getting up the stairs. He knows, deep down, it's not her fault. She was never a stable woman. But the effect she's had on him will last forever. 

The raccoon she killed, laughing all the while, then scowling when he looked upon it, terrified. The things she'd cooked for them on days like Thanksgiving. Abby would always excuse herself, the mangled food on her plate left untouched, but Cecil always ate it. It was disgusting, and later Earl would tell him that she didn't even cook it right. But he always ate it. Hoping that maybe she'd be thankful. Maybe show she loved him a little more.

But she never did. And Cecil had to live with that now. He had all he needed, he had Janice, and Abby, and Steve. He was mending the wounds his mother had inflicted upon him and his sister. If he could find his brother, he would. He had Carlos who was sensitive to touch sometimes and often had days where he wanted to hide from the world, where touch burned, where speaking his affection was too much. And he and Cecil were learning.

Learning to fix relationships, fix themselves, fix each other.

Carlos shuffled into him, and Cecil opened his eyes, the images of his mother flashing onto the dark ceiling above them.

He hoped that maybe one day she'd stop haunting his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, I wrote this in like, an hour. So excuse me if it's not up to my usual standard. As some of you may know, I turned 18 recently, and I had a pretty big bomb dropped on me concerning my biological dad. 
> 
> The relationship between me and him is...well, nonexistent. I haven't seen him since I was one, and yet I feel as if he's this spectre always haunting me. I guess I wanted to portray the emotional trauma Cecil's mother had on him, to I guess to reflect the effect my bio dad has had on me. 
> 
> I think that Cecil would be very damaged by this. And I know I didn't portray it very well. But that I managed to get some of my feelings across.
> 
> Please comment/kudos and check out my social media, thank you in advance!


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